


anything you want

by FeverAndRemedy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Intercrural Sex, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, Thighs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21678703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeverAndRemedy/pseuds/FeverAndRemedy
Summary: Claude hasn’t the faintest idea why he’s the one Dimitri is able to let loose on. Maybe it’s because Dimitri actually likes him. Maybe it’s because Claude is expendable. Claude doesn’t know which one he wants to be true.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 253





	anything you want

**Author's Note:**

> you read the tags so you know where this is going

Ugh, who does he think he is? Calling for favors so late.

Oh, wait, that’s right - Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. Straight-A student, national track champion, inheritor of the Blaiddyd legacy, overall dreamboat Dimitri. That Dimitri. Not to say Claude isn’t a good student because oh, he is. He and Dimitri went to the same private high school and then anyone who was anyone there sort of just ended up at Garreg Mach University.

It was weird how that happened, but nobody seems to mind much.

Claude _tsks_ at his phone and shoves it into his pocket, crossing the courtyard from his apartment into the parking garage. At this point, he doesn’t even need to open his maps app to get to Dimitri’s fancy one-person apartment - he knows the route by heart.

The two of them are… well, they’re something. Something undefined. It doesn’t really bother Claude, but he won’t admit he thinks about it more than he should. At first, Claude would just tease Dimitri because Dimitri was so easy to tease. In high school, at least. He would fluster so easily - he still does. And his whole face gets red, Claude thinks it’s the funniest thing.

He’s like that, though. Claude likes to find what makes people tick, it’s just what he does. It wasn’t until halfway through their first year of university that Dimitri seemed genuinely interested. Claude likens their arrangement to a friends with benefits situation. They rarely talk about it, and they’re both so busy outside of classes that it’s unlike Dimitri to request Claude’s attention like this.

They have their own separate little bubbles with their own friends and own responsibilities.

But apparently he “really needs help,” and Claude is “the only person who can do it.”

Claude can’t complain. He’s been itching to get out of his apartment for a little while because Hilda has some kind of marketing project going on. She keeps insisting that she can’t leave the house and gets Claude to run errands for her while she’s working, so it’s nice to get out.

The drive is fine. He rolls the windows down and blasts some indie garage-band hit. The air is just starting to get cool; today’s the first day the temperature has gone under 75.

When he locks his car, he shoves his keys into his pocket and lets the lanyard hang down. It’s all routine from there - use a key card to open the lobby door and get into the elevator to the sixth floor. This is one of those fancy apartments that use a key card for everything. On-site amenities, getting into the building, using the elevator. Claude turns the metallic card over in his hand and the dimmed elevator light glints off of it. It’s been a while since Dimitri gave him the duplicate. Him, of all people. Claude doesn’t think about it too hard. He just puts it back into his pocket and finds Dimitri’s door in the long, sleek gray hallway.

Dimitri answers it almost too fast. Claude has barely finished knocking. It gives him a twisted sense of pleasure.

“Oh?” Claude purrs with amusement. “Whatever is so serious?”

Dimitri is standing there looking a tiny bit embarrassed. He always looks a tiny bit embarrassed as soon as Claude starts pushing his buttons, and boy, does Claude know the right buttons to push. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows and tucked into some black pants as if that’s normal for ten o’clock at night on a Saturday.

“Uh, it’s not that serious,” Dimitri says, his fingers playing with the loose sheafs of his bangs. The rest of his blond hair is pulled back, some of it tied into a ponytail so it’s all sort of half-up and half-down. He steps back and holds the door open. “You can come in.”

“Cool,” Claude smirks and rolls his eyes a little. He doesn’t really need Dimitri to invite him in. Part of Claude wants to push him. Please, I’ve sucked your dick on that couch enough times that I don’t know why I knock anymore, I should just start walking in. But what they have feels like such a delicate balance sometimes. Dimitri is like a skinny little rubber band just waiting to snap. Except he’s only half-skinny, he’s also half… muscley.

The inside of Dimitri’s apartment is like it always is. Smooth black countertops. Minimalist furniture. Everything’s black or metal except for the white shag rug in the living area.

“So,” Claude says, toeing out of his shoes. “What’s the issue?”

Dimitri passes by him and hovers by the kitchen island.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he gestures to the row of liquor bottles.

Claude wants to scoff, but he also feels strangely flattered. The liquors lining Dimitri’s back counter are classy shit. Bombay Sapphire, Patrón, Chopin, Dalmore. Claude shifts a little, waves his hand.

“Don’t worry about it, you don’t want to waste that stuff on me.”

Dimitri hesitates, but nods, and walks over to the desk by the window. He pulls the seat out. Claude sits down. He leans forwards, propping his elbows onto the desk and scanning the screen.

“Oh!” Claude’s pleasantly surprised. “This is in French.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dimitri says from behind him. When Claude glances over his shoulder, Dimitri is standing there with his arms crossed. “I can’t read French. I just need you to translate it.”

He pauses.

“I mean, if that’s okay.”

Very kind, very considerate: typical Dimitri. The Dimitri he shows to everybody. The straight A student. The track champion. Claude knows better, but he doesn’t think it’s the right moment, so he keeps his mouth shut and his hands to himself. For now. Instead, he shrugs and turns back to the screen.

“You could have just sent it to me over Google Docs or something,” Claude says, opening a new document. He starts translating it. French is just one of the languages Claude knows. He’s a bit of a polyglot, but not many people know that.

“It’s uh, business-related. I don’t think I can just email it to you.”

“But I’m allowed to come over and see it?”

“I don’t know, are you going to sell the information in the document to our competitors?”

“What’s in it?” Claude’s got a pretty good idea of what it is, but he’s enjoying the tension this give-and-take is creating. He’s starting to push Dimitri’s buttons, he can feel it. That stony exterior just slipping, chipping away. Few people know what lies underneath, but Claude is more than familiar with it - a hot metal core, unpredictable and wild.

“It’s a security report from our French data center.”

Claude exaggerates a yawn.

“I don’t know anyone who’d buy this,” he says with a smirk.

He feels a warmth, and becomes acutely aware of how close Dimitri got to him all of a sudden. A rush of excitement buzzes at the back of his head and down his neck. It’s all starting to slip away. Dimitri leans over him, one hand on the back of the desk chair, and the other stretched over Claude’s shoulder, pointing at some of the numbers and graphs on the screen. He explains something about the biometric readers. There’s a graph of the building’s seismic activity and internal temperatures. But Claude isn’t really listening. He’s too busy focusing on the feeling of Dimitri’s breath as it ghosts against the shell of his ear, and the slight pressure of his weight leaning over the back of the chair.

Claude’s no idiot. Translations, really? Dimitri probably has more resources for that kind of mundane shit than he knows what to do with. He could get anybody to do anything with a snap of his fingers. He could get anything. He could have anything. But it’s Claude that he has to wile (or _try_ to wile), and Claude takes _immense_ pleasure in this.

“Very interesting stuff I’m sure,” Claude all but whispers, side eyeing the light glancing off of Dimitri’s face.

Dimitri turns and looks at him, the tips of his ears just the slightest bit red.

“Is my face that distracting?” Claude asks after a moment of silence, lifting a brow.

It isn’t until then that Dimitri registers how close they are. He steps back suddenly, pushing himself away from the chair, and avoids Claude’s gaze.

“You shaved.”

The warm and fluttery sound of Claude’s laugh fills the space between them. He leans back and brushes the back of his hand along the side of his own jaw.

“Yeah, I did,” he says. “I had a presentation for class.”

There’s more silence as Dimitri walks to the bar and examines a bottle of liquor. He clears his throat. Claude sort of wishes he’d taken Dimitri up on a glass of it.

After a beat of silence, “How’s the translation going?”

… Seriously?

After the whole awkward dance, the whole charade of getting him over here for some shitty French translations, Dimitri is about chicken out? Not on his watch. He’s watched Dimitri deny himself too many times. Claude rolls his eyes and turns in the seat, his feet resting on the spindles.

“What are you doing over there?” His tone isn’t accusatory, but there’s a playfulness in his voice. Carefully crafted, as everything should be.

“Um, just…” Dimitri struggles for an answer. He puts the liquor bottle down in defeat, having not even poured himself a drink.

“Come over here.”

He pads over to where Claude’s sitting, broad shoulders tight in embarrassment - at having been found out, most likely. But Dimitri’s has never been a hard code to crack for Claude. Even Dimitri’s closest friends can tell when he’s putting up a front. But they’re not the ones Dimitri orders food for after marathons of fucking. No, as far as Claude knows, it’s only him.

Dimitri can play this “daddy’s little CEO in the making” game as much as he wants. Claude doesn’t know who he thinks he’s fooling. It’s irritating to him in the rawest way - he hates seeing Dimitri snuff himself out for the sake of some kind of arbitrary professionalism. And Claude hasn’t the faintest idea why he’s the one Dimitri is able to let loose on and show his real self to. Maybe it’s because Dimitri actually likes him. Maybe it’s because Claude is expendable. Claude doesn’t know which one he wants to be true.

Claude shifts in the seat, facing Dimitri. He’s much taller like this, when Claude is sitting down. Dimitri practically towers over him. It might be intimidating to anyone else, but Claude’s smirk softens into a smile and it’s an almost imperceptible change.

“Come down here,” Claude says. Dimitri hesitates. He avoids Claude’s eyes still.

“I,” he says. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Did you give up?” Claude asks, sticking out a foot and nudging Dimitri’s shin.

“Give up on what?”

“Seducing me.”

“I wasn’t-” Dimitri sputters and his face starts to turn red. He covers his mouth with his hand a little bit like he’s afraid his words might betray him and it’s one of the cutest things Claude has ever seen. He’s clearly trying to save his own ass. Claude feels bad for putting him on blast, but he also desperately wants to savor this moment. It’s always him doing the seducing, so to see Dimitri attempt it is both hilariously unexpected and, dare he say, strangely sweet?

“You weren’t?” Claude asks. “Oh. My bad.”

Claude shrugs and makes to get up, but Dimitri slams his hands down on the armrests of the chair, trapping him in it. Claude doesn’t want to say _I told you so_ but it would be so easy right about now. He lifts a brow, looking up at Dimitri’s face to observe every rapid change happening behind those eyes.

“I should stay?” Claude realizes how quiet his voice has gotten. He didn’t notice it, but he’s gradually been lowering his volume bit by bit and now his voice is just a low pur in his chest. That buzz that was prickling at the back of his head is now a hum that fills his bloodstream. He can feel it thrumming in his body like a live wire.

And Dimitri is still leaning over him, casting a shadow, his hands gripping the chair’s arms. His fingers tighten and the material creaks in protest. He finally makes eye contact with Claude again and it catches Claude off-guard. Dimitri’s eyes are dark, but equally vulnerable. Serious in a way that Claude wasn’t expecting.

“Yeah,” is all that Dimitri responds with.

Claude loves to step into the line of fire, so to speak, so he throws his arms up around Dimitri’s neck, elbows hooking loosely around the slope of Dimitri’s shoulders. It’s all a smooth, fluid motion, it feels almost natural. Dimitri follows Claude’s movement without prompt. He leans down and kisses Claude on the corner of his mouth.

Claude smiles against it, head tilting to capture the kiss better. Dimitri’s lips are tentative, as if he’s not sure this is okay, and it makes Claude want to laugh. He’s had Dimitri’s dick in his mouth on more than one occasion. What is it about a kiss that trips him up?

The kiss is gentle for a moment - a very brief moment. It’s like they’re just getting their footing. Claude’s teeth tease at Dimitri’s bottom lip. Dimitri plunges his tongue into Claude’s mouth. They build fires between each other, lighting a spark that banks into mounting flames. Hell yes, this is a rhythm that Claude can dance to.

That stony farce Dimitri insists on putting up is gone now, shucked away like a snakeskin. Instead, Dimitri’s hands move from the chair and land on Claude’s chest. Strong fingers press into Claude’s skin through his shirt and his heart staggers. He’s pulled up into a standing position so suddenly it almost makes his head spin. Dimitri’s hands are on his sides, gripping his waist, and Claude nearly falls forward, leaning against the sturdy frame that is Dimitri’s body.

Dimitri breaks the kiss for a second and Claude has to stop himself from chasing after his lips.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and Claude’s face heats up. Damn it, he’s like a teenager again, flushed and clumsy, but he can’t help it. Dimitri’s eyes are stormy and half-lidded. His eyes are always so pretty - the color of a bluebird’s wing, Claude thinks.

Fuck. He needs to stop thinking.

“It’s fine,” Claude smiles. He puts his hands over Dimitri’s and guides them over his ass. He hears the tiny gasp that Dimitri makes and chuckles. “But this is better.”

Dimitri takes the hint. His fingers knead into Claude’s denim - grabbing at the soft skin he knows lies underneath that irritatingly thick fabric - and pulls Claude’s hips to his body.

“That’s good…” Claude’s voice comes out more ragged than he means it to be. When he turns his face towards Dimitri’s again, the proximity between them is already meager at best, and Dimitri quickly closes that space with another kiss.

Claude’s thoughts are dulled, like a heavy fog sits in his mind. He’s not thinking of anything, not analyzing, occupied solely by the act of taking Dimitri’s tongue into his own mouth and keeping the rhythm of their lips closing and opening against one another. Claude keeps himself from getting lost in it only so he can work his fingers against Dimitri’s waist, pulling the pressed white shirt untucked and making quick work of the buttons. Dimitri slips out of the shirt, leaving it in a white heap on the floor, and then uses both hands to pull Claude’s jacket off. He throws it onto the couch, and Claude’s hands cup his jaw then.

Claude kisses Dimitri’s cheek, having to crane his neck upwards just to do so, then steps away, hands running lightly down Dimitri’s bare arm, his fingers clasping Dimitri’s hand.

“Bedroom?” Claude shifts his weight from side to side, fingers squeezing Dimitri’s hand playfully. Dimitri nods, and Claude leads them both there. He’s familiar enough with the space to lead the way.

The room is dim, lit only by a tall lamp, and the bed is half-made, looking, at the very least, much better than the absolutely sorry state Claude leaves his own in. Claude doesn’t know how he let himself forget how nice Dimitri’s set-up is. He hurries to the bed, practically throwing himself onto it.

“Oh my god it’s _so_ soft,” Claude’s voice is muffled, his face buried into the black shag throw. The place he and Hilda share is nice, sure, but it’s not _trust fund_ nice.

“Enjoying yourself?” he hears Dimitri’s voice from behind him. The bed dips a little as Dimitri places a knee between Claude’s, and Claude knows Dimitri is going to lean over him so he pushes himself up a little and meets him halfway, their bodies pushed against each other once again.

“I am,” Claude chuckles. “Please tell me you’re aware of how stacked this place is.” Dimitri is kissing the side of his neck, leaving hot marks along the skin, and he hums in response.

“It feels really empty most of the time,” Dimitri replies when he pulls away to help Claude shuck his t-shirt off. It’s all happening faster, now. Claude can tell how much Dimitri wants it by the way his hands are all over him all of a sudden.

It’s almost overwhelmingly fast; Dimitri’s hands move slowly up Claude’s sides, his muscles jumping involuntarily at the touch. They both shift back so Claude is half-kneeling against Dimitri’s lap, and it’s then he can feel the hard length of Dimitri’s erection through his pants. His own dick responds in kind and strains against the front of his jeans.

“Fuck,” Claude whispers, Dimitri’s hands curving forwards over his chest to grope his pecs. One of Dimitri’s hands kneads while the other pulls at Claude’s nipple, and whatever ticklishness Claude has in him is overshadowed by just how good it feels.

Dimitri’s usually not so bold; he’ll sort of feel up Claude’s chest but won’t commit to it. Claude wonders what changed. He doesn’t focus on it. He’s too busy rocking back into the firm shape of Dimitri’s clothed cock. They both make a sound that’s in between a hum and a moan, a low, deep sound that Claude has come to know as the “we both need to be naked, like, yesterday” kind of sound.

“Hang on,” Claude says, twisting around and shimmying out of his jeans. He kicks them thoughtlessly to the side and leans forward, spreading his hands over the velvety black of Dimitri’s pants. “Oh, these are nice.”

“What,” Dimitri says, holding back a snicker, “my pants or my thighs?”

“Mm. Both,” Claude nuzzles his cheek against the inside of Dimitri’s thigh. He lifts his head and undoes the button and zipper before unceremoniously pulling Dimitri’s cock free. “The kind of pants you shouldn’t get cum stains on. But I like to live on the edge.”

“I… oh,” Dimitri loses his breath and the flush on his face deepens as he watches Claude run his tongue along the underside of his dick before taking the tip into his mouth.

Every part of Dimitri’s body feels warmer - even his blood feels hot pumping through his veins. This isn’t the first time he’s watched the length of his cock disappearing into Claude’s pretty mouth, but he just never gets used to it. Dimitri absent-mindedly runs his fingers through the brown waves of Claude’s hair, his hand firm on the back of Claude’s head but not forceful, the way he knows Claude likes it. He could get distracted watching those lips, and he is - Claude has such nice lips, full and soft, a little wet and blushed from the kissing. Dimitri’s so distracted watching Claude expertly suck him off that he isn’t even aware of the steady streams of _oh fuck_ s and _so good_ s coming out of his mouth.

Dimitri pulls himself out of his haze and pushes a little on Claude’s shoulder.

“Wait,” he says quietly as Claude lifts his face up. “Lean back.”

Claude’s a little confused, but equally dazed, and not about to question it. He sits up and leans back a little against the pillows as Dimitri slips out of his slacks and briefs. Dimitri leans forwards and pulls Claude’s cock free of his boxers. He doesn’t waste time getting it into his mouth, and while he may not share Claude’s particular set of dick-sucking skills, Claude can feel himself swell. He may have been hard before, but he wasn’t prepared for Dimitri to just start going down on him, and fuck if he isn’t painfully hard now.

It isn’t that Dimitri doesn’t go down on him, but Claude doesn’t think he’s very… experienced with it, and therefore not very confident. Dimitri will eat him out every once and a while, but Claude is usually the one giving head. Not that he minds, given how Dimitri’s easily got one of the nicest cocks he’s ever seen.

Dimitri’s mouth is hot and wet around him; it’s overwhelming considering how little he was expecting it. Every muscle in his body feels tight and wound up, and he’s faintly aware of his own hand fisting the sheets next to him, and the other one grasping the strands of blond Dimitri had tied back. He loosens his grip, uttering a quiet “sorry,” but Dimitri shakes his head.

“Oh?” Claude huffs, honestly struggling to come up with something witty (but of course he perseveres, nonetheless). “You like that?”

He tightens his fingers into the smooth, straight hair again, not quite pulling but applying a consistent sort of tug. The face Dimitri makes in response makes Claude want to cum all over it. Dimitri’s getting into it now, moving his head up and down along Claude’s blushed cock, working his tongue. God, he better be careful, Claude thinks. Nothing would ruin sucking dick for Dimitri faster than Claude cumming prematurely down his throat.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” his voice isn’t too quiet, but Dimitri doesn’t even seem to acknowledge him.

Even Claude’s fucking legs are starting to tense. He’s absently pushing his heels into the sheets, toes curling slightly. He’s been struggling to focus, but he finally looks back down at Dimitri in full and has to suck in a sharp breath to keep himself together when he sees that one of Dimitri’s hands is between his legs, tugging at his own wet cock. Not desperately, but slowly, idly, like he can’t help it.

Jesus fucking Christ, Claude thought he wasn’t prepared but he’s really not prepared. Not for something like that, not for seeing Dimitri act like he can’t control himself. There’s something so hot about it, Dimitri finally taking something he wants, finally not denying himself. If Claude is just the vessel for it, well, who cares - they’re both having a good time.

“Dimitri,” Claude keens. It’s all he can do not to start thrusting into that heat. Finally, Dimitri pulls back, and he’s blushing a deep shade. His eyes look unfocused, and Claude recalls without trying - _bluebird’s wing_. He takes a moment to catch his breath while Dimitri wipes his mouth on the back of his own hand. “That was good, fuck… it was really good…”

“Are you close?” Dimitri’s voice is low and raspy from sucking Claude off. He’s so close now that Claude can feel the heat radiating off of his body, but they’re both equally warm.

Claude is going to say something, but Dimitri’s pulling his boxers down his legs and throwing them onto the floor and it makes the words disappear on Claude’s tongue. Instead, he nods furiously, covering his mouth to stifle the needy sound that tries to escape him.

The hand Dimitri lays on Claude’s shoulder is firm, but reassuring. Claude feels so wanted for a moment that the feeling hits him square in the chest. It’s a dull pang that reminds him he doesn’t know who the two of them are to each other. Dimitri’s hand slides down Claude’s back, pushing between his body and the bed to cup and squeeze his ass, fingers diving -

“Oh, no no no!” Claude practically jumps, shifting up onto his knees and grabbing Dimitri’s wrist. It’s so ridiculous that Claude starts to laugh despite himself. Amateur mistake. Claude should have known better, really. “No, that, uh. Unfortunately cannot. Happen. Unless you’re into that.”

Poor Dimi, he thinks. The man looks absolutely lost. He probably is; it isn’t like they haven’t fucked before.

“What’s…”

“Well, you gotta give a guy a warning,” Claude’s trying not to laugh harder, but it’s all just too good. They’re both sitting there with rock hard dicks about to feel as dumb as possible. Two horny idiots. “I’m not, you know - prepared.”

“I…” is all Dimitri can manage.

“Dimitri,” Claude lays his hands on the man’s shoulders. “I’m not. Like. _Prepared_ prepared.”

He watches the realization dawn on Dimitri’s face.

“Oh,” Dimitri says. “Do you want to stop?”

“Oh, fuck no! You better not. You just can’t fuck me in the ass.”

“That’s fine,” Dimitri smiles, a little sly, but with this endearing gleam in his eyes that makes Claude’s chest feel tight and lord, he doesn’t need to overanalyze _that_ right now. “I can work with that.” Dimitri goes down in between Claude’s legs again as though he’s never been more pleased with himself.

But instead of giving attention to Claude’s throbbing erection, Dimitri takes the skin of Claude’s thigh into his mouth. It’s sensitive and ticklish. Claude isn’t used to it at all, but intrigue keeps him from stopping Dimitri. An excited rush sparks its way through his body, a sensation like pins and needles. There’s something titillating about not knowing what Dimitri’s thinking or what he plans on doing to him that makes Claude’s heart pound in his own eardrums.

The skin of his inner thigh is tender and untouched; Dimitri’s sucking on it makes him wince a little. Claude forgets to stifle the gasp that leaves him when Dimitri leaves his thigh a wet mess to move onto the other one. When he’s done leaving hickeys on Claude’s skin, he puts his hand over Claude’s ribs gently.

“Here,” Dimitri whispers, his mouth still wet. “Turn around.”

Claude’s suspicious, but he turns around, crouched on his hands and knees. It isn’t long before he feels Dimitri hovering over him; he can feel the heat and moisture from his body, the slight graze Dimitri’s hands make over his hips. His hands move down Claude’s ass, and the muscles at the small of Claude’s back clench from the sensation.

“Squeeze your legs together,” Dimitri sounds confident, now. Almost commanding. His hands are on the sensitive curve between Claude’s waist and hips.

When Claude pushes his thighs together, he can feel the slickness from where Dimitri had lavished him with his mouth, and his teeth close hard on his lip. He feels Dimitri before he hears him. The sensation of something warm and firm pushing between his thighs, just below where his own cock bobs slightly with any movement, sends a hard shudder down his spine. Half a second later, Dimitri grunts hard and breathlessly, and the pleasant surprise of what they’re doing causes Claude’s face to burn.

Having Dimitri’s cock between his thighs feels strange, but there’s a pleasantness to it, and to hearing Dimitri’s voice, that thrills him.

“Is this-” Dimitri struggles, “this okay?”

“Mmhm,” Claude’s still biting into his lip and it’s starting to hurt so he releases it. He can’t help but be pleased with himself as Dimitri starts pumping his length between Claude’s legs.

A series of huffs and groans start to escape Dimitri, and it feels like fire fueling the warmth in Claude’s body. There’s something exciting in hearing him come undone. Claude keeps his thighs pushed together, the skin there feeling every inch of Dimitri’s cock as it slides through again and again. Claude can’t help but smirk, because who is he if not a teasing little shit?

“You like that?” Claude says, twisting his torso so he can cast a glance over his shoulder at how Dimitri’s clinging to his hips. “You like fucking my thighs?”

Dimitri looks wrecked, and Claude knows he isn’t going to last much longer. He plans on teasing him until the very end, but Dimitri leans over and pulls Claude up by the shoulder so their bodies are flush against one another. Dimitri’s hips quicken to a rushed, desperate pace. At the same time, he reaches forwards around Claude’s body to wrap his hand around Claude’s cock.

“Oh!” the sound punches its way out of Claude’s chest, and it feels like all his nerves are exposed and how fast Dimitri’s hand moves and it’s almost too much for Claude to take.

Claude comes first with a moan, hard and messy into Dimitri’s hand. He instinctively grabs Dimitri’s wrist tightly when the friction becomes too much for how sensitive he feels. Dimitri isn’t far behind him, hips stuttering with a jerk as he empties himself onto the sheets.

“F-fuck!” Dimitri cries, stifling a long moan and burying his face into the crook of Claude’s neck. Something about it feels staggeringly intimate.

Dimitri ends up back against the pillows and Claude collapsed beside him, just sort of breathing together in the afterglow. At some point, Dimitri puts his arm around Claude’s shoulders and it feels too close to being… something. Ugh, and Claude is still sticky between his legs and it’s starting to feel gross rather than sexy. He sits up suddenly, snapping both him and Dimitri out of the haze.

“Well, there’s cum on the sheets. And on me,” he slides off the bed and points at Dimitri. “And on you. I’m gonna wipe myself down. Want a towel?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Dimitri answers.

The two of them towel off and Claude borrows some sweats from Dimitri that are a bit too big on him because he insists on staying over. It’s late, and now they’re both tired and Claude is too lazy to drive back to his apartment. The sweatpants and t-shirt are baggy and smell like nice detergent, hiding all the angles of Claude’s body in the comfortable cloth.

They sit in Dimitri’s bed (after changing the ruined sheet), talking quietly about nothing in particular. It doesn’t last long, they both fall asleep quickly and without struggle.

Claude wakes up first and he checks his phone to see a picture Hilda sent him. It’s a meme of a cake that says “congratz on the sex” on it. Well yeah, he guesses what else she’s supposed to make of him going to Dimitri’s and not coming back. He keysmashes a bunch of unrelated emojis and sends it before slapping his phone back onto the bedside table. He’s sitting up when there’s rustling beside him, and when he looks, Dimitri is awake and looking… pensive, Claude thinks. And there’s the anxiety, right on cue.

“Oh god, what is it?” Claude asks. “Are you mad that I didn’t finish those translations? That wasn’t on a deadline, was it?”

Dimitri laughs a little and shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he answers, even though he knows Claude is kidding. “I just. I don’t know where we’re at, I guess. As people who are… I don’t know.”

“Fucking?”

“I was going to say ‘together.’ But, yeah.”

Claude turns to face him and crosses his legs.

“Oh… kay. We don’t have to know. It can be nothing. That’s fine.”

“It’s not…” Dimitri conceals a wince. He’s avoiding Claude’s gaze. “I don’t want it to be nothing. I. I guess I’m trying to say that I really like you.”

“Oh.” That’s not how Claude is expecting this to go. He’s not sure what he should say so for once he’s honest. “I like you too.”

“Do you want to go get breakfast?”

Claude smiles and leans back onto his palms. “Yeah. But I get to pick.”

Dimitri rolls his eyes and chuckles, turning around and sticking his face into his pillow. His words come out muffled and quiet, but Claude can still hear them when Dimitri says, “You can have anything you want, Claude.”

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully it won't take me so long to break out my next work, the timing on this one just made it take so long for me to finish I'm sorry... anyway follow me on Twitter maybe! @FeverAndRemedy, I'm always talking about fics and also asking about what I should write next! thanks for all the great comments on my past stuff, I'm really enjoying writing FE3H!


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